


A Night Like This

by MandyinKC



Series: George and Angelina: Finding Balance [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 12:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14790296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandyinKC/pseuds/MandyinKC
Summary: May 2, 1999 may be unbearable, but May 1 was never going to be a picnic either.





	A Night Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, Leafia.

_1 May 1999_

The bell over the door belched loudly as a new customer entered Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Two little sandy-haired terrors giggled from under a table near the front of the shop. So, that's where the little devils had gotten off to. They'd been menacing the shop for the last hour since their dear cousin Seamus dropped them off with a "How d'ya do, George, ya wouldn't mind, would ya?" The bastard was probably getting his jollies with some fit bird while his kin were terrorizing innocent shopkeepers. For his part, George hadn't realized that two boys who were not ginger could be such a bother. Frog Spawn and Eye of Newt, as he had affectionately named them, had absolutely no respect for his authority as proprietor. (Possibly because he'd been chasing them while wearing a Headless Hat—but that was neither here nor there! Those two would be bloody brilliant pranksters once they got up to Hogwarts. George was fully prepared to give them a 30 percent discount if they made Gryffindor.)

Looking between a stack of Sciving Snackboxes and a table of Tiny Twisters, George spied the familiar shine of perfectly coifed, black hair. Angelina. She must have just come from training, but she was impeccably attired, from her perfect hair to her posh shoes. While he watched, Angelina looked around the shop, her eyebrows lifted in amazement and her mouth forming a soft 'O'. Pride filled George's chest. Angie would never let him see how impressed she was by his and Fred's business, always claiming that any praise would give them such swollen heads they wouldn't fit through the door.

" _Pathetic!"_

" _The oldest joke in the books!"_

" _Boo!"_

With the chorus of his and his twin's matched voices in his head, George stepped into the aisle, nearly bowling Angelina over. There was a moment where surprise registered in her eyes, but no scream or gasp.

"Oi!" George bellowed. "We close in ten minutes."

One regal eyebrow arched, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Is that so? And I had plans to buy out the shop. Your loss, I reckon."

"Alas, my fortune would have been made. Bad luck, that."

Angelina reached out one hand and touched his chest. George's breath caught in his throat as her fingers gingerly walked up his shirtfront. Shivers jumped down his spine. Merlin, that felt good, Angelina touching him. A dopey smile was on his face as he watched her hand move up his chest, but he allowed it since it was hidden by the charmed chapeau. Her hand came to the edge of the Headless Hat, which she grabbed and yanked off.

"There," she said.

George was quick to wipe his face blank. Wouldn't want Angelina thinking he was a ponce.

"Better?" he asked. Now he smirked, that kind of devil-a-bit smirk he was so good at.

Angelina cocked her head to one side as if giving him a thorough once over. "Not much, no, but it _is_ disconcerting speaking to a decapitation victim, isn't it."

"Nearly Headless Nick always did give you the willies."

An easy smile passed between the two of them. George couldn't help but be a bit transfixed as Angelina's eyes went soft at the shared memory. Then the room filled with noxious purple and yellow gas. Covering her mouth, Angelina started coughing. Impish laughter that sounded remarkably childlike came from somewhere in the vicinity of George's ankles. Frog and Newt's discount was hereby revoked!

"Oi! You little gits!" George bellowed, then coughed. He waved his arms in front of him in an effort to dispel the horrible-smelling gas. Bloody dung bombs. At least twenty of them.

Suddenly, the gas disappeared. George looked around to see the fumes being sucked into Angelina's wand.

"What?" she asked when she saw that he was staring at her.

"Nothing," George muttered and went about wrangling in his little menaces.

Seamus showed up at exactly closing time to retrieve Frog and Spawn. George would have given the fiery Irishman a blistering earful, except that he was quite aware of Angelina loitering behind the counter waiting for him. So instead, he filled the boys' pockets with sweets and bolted the door behind them. Then he took a moment.

Standing before the locked door, shade pulled, George just inhaled, then exhaled slowly. It was just Angelina and she was here on the eve of the anniversary of the worst day of his life. Nothing he couldn't handle. He spotted Verity and asked her if she could handle close up on her own. Normally she would give him a lot of grief. Some tosh about how it was his name on the sign above the shop and not hers, or maybe the old song and dance about how she was underpaid (not true!), but today she just nodded and that was that.

At the back of the store, George found Angelina sitting on the counter examining a Dolores Umbridge toy.

"This is hideous," she said, and tossed the toy aside.

"Not our best seller, I'll admit," George replied and leaned against the counter next to her.

"I'll tell you what would sell," Angelina said in a hushed voice, leaning in. At this range, George could clearly see the spark of mischief in her beautiful brown eyes. "Delores Umbridge voodoo dolls."

George chuckled. "You always had a flair for the dramatic, Johnson."

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all day."

"Those are words I've always wanted to hear from your lips."

She shoved him in the shoulder. "Git. I've been worried about you!"

"It's alright, Angie," George said quietly. "I've…managed."

There was a moment—only the smallest bit of time, but heavy all the same—when Angelina's eyes searched his face for some clue. George liked to take the piss, claim that Angie was trying to figure out if he was having her on or not. He called that patented look _Angelina's Special Bullshit Detector_ , but he knew that was just a deflection. From the time they were eleven-years-old, Angelina had a way of looking at him to see what he was really thinking. She'd never looked at Fred that way.

"How about tonight?" she asked, apparently satisfied that George was telling the truth. "I could stay."

"I would love that. My flat's a wreck and I need someone to clean it... Ow!" George rubbed his shoulder where she'd punched him. That eyebrow of hers was incredulous again. "So violent."

"You drive me to extremes, George."

She folded her hands in her lap and looked away.

"I'm going to the Burrow tonight," George said earnestly. "The whole lot is getting together so that nobody will be alone, then we'll travel out to Hogwarts tomorrow as a family."

"That's as it should be," Angelina said, and looked at him.

"What about you? Do you have someone to be with tonight?"

"Katie and Oliver are having the lot of us over to Red's Wood for supper."

"Oooh, a little dinner party with the married couple, so domestic."

"It's not like that…just none of us wanted to be alone, you know."

"So, it'll be you and the happy couples, will it?"

Besides Katie and Oliver's wretched domestic bliss complete with baby and big manor house, Lee and Alicia had gotten together after the war, too. Apparently, facing your imminent death on a daily basis inspired everybody to hop in bed with the first available mate… or true love.

"Well, I was supposed to bring you around, wasn't I?" Angelina said.

"I'll just Floo-call Mum, beg off for the night. I'm sure she won't mind."

"I'm sure," Angelina scoffed. "Look at it this way, you won't have to watch Katie and Oliver make cow eyes at one another over dessert."

George chuckled. "No, just Bill and Fleur… and Merlin's soiled knickers, Percy and Audrey!"

"Oh, you definitely have it worse. If you get desperate, Floo-call me." Angelina slid off the counter. "I'm glad you'll be with your family tonight."

She kissed his cheek then wound her way through the displays to the door. Not moving from his spot holding up the counter, George watched Angelina go. The next day was going to be a shitty one, no doubt about it, but he was surprised that he was holding it together. It was no mystery why to George; it was all to do with Angelina. He picked up the Dolores Umbridge toy. Not one of Fred's finer ideas, or had it been his, George's, idea? He couldn't remember anymore, but he was going to blame it on Fred.

oOo

Angelina walked out of the bright cheeriness of the shop into the gray drizzle of Diagon Alley. It was truly remarkable, the business Fred and George started. She stepped down from the stoop, cast an Impervious charm over her head, and looked back at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was a purple that would make eggplants jealous, trimmed in an orange that was the exact shade of the twins' hair. When drawn, the shades were a magenta and chartreuse stripe that yelled, "Come back later! Can't you see we're closed, you numpty!" at anyone who climbed up the step after hours. When the shades were pulled, however, the windows were a colorful world of imaginative products and gags.

The building was a garish slash of color through a street of old-world blues and antique yellows, earthy greens and browns, and just a dash of racing red. Looming over the business, and its neighbors', was a bright orange 'W' with flashing lights. Really, the whole display was obscene, and oddly inviting, much like the two men who had created it. Angelina couldn't deny that for every time she'd found frog spawn in her shoes, or spiders creeping down the neck of her robes, she was always keen to go back for more. It was infectious, their laughter and humor, and being around it was addicting and exciting.

As Angelina turned up the Alley in the direction of the Leaky Caldron, she reflected that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes hadn't always looked the way it did now. Originally, the building had sported a giant replica of Fred's head instead of the 'W'. Angelina could still remember the first time she had seen it on the day after graduating from Hogwarts and hopping mad with Fred and George.

" _Merlin's pants," Alicia breathed, gawping up at the enormous replica of one of the twin's head. "Is that…"_

" _It's Fred, of course!" Angelina hissed. She grabbed the other girl's arm and pulled her along. "Only he would be big-headed enough to do something so… so…"_

_The words failed Angelina._ Ostentatious _seemed too tame for the display before her. Honestly, Fred's fat head loomed six-feet high, laughing at all of Diagon Alley like some sort of bloody condescending shyster. Which was exactly what he was, and his sodding twin too! Yet the skill, the sheer talent that was required to create such a display? Complete with an arm that repeatedly doffed a top hat. It was just outstanding. It was a feat that Angelina knew she could never accomplish. Not that she was surprised. Fred and George were nothing if not brilliant, but would it have killed them to put an ounce of that brilliance into their schoolwork?_

_Well, admittedly, it might._

_But that wasn't the point! Fred and George had deserted Hogwarts. They deserted the Quidditch team, the Gryffindors, Lee and Alicia and Katie. They had deserted her, Angelina, without even leaving a note! Who did that? What kind of friend doesn't at least say 'goodbye' before roaring out of a place?_

_Pushing through the violently orange doors, Angelina was nearly thrown off her stride by the vast, amazing display before her. Colorful boxes were stacked on tables, sparkling bottle lined shelves, miniature hot air balloons were tethered near the windows, a small, mechanical Ferris wheel rotated on top of a counter, monkeys on bicycles zipped across guidelines above it all. It was loud, yes, but this was spectacle at its finest. And so many products! Angelina had no idea that the twins had created such a wide variety of gadgets._

" _Oi! Paying customers only!" bellowed a familiar voice._

_Carefully wiping her face clear, Angelina narrowed her eyes on the boy sauntering up to her. "Fred Weasley, you are a complete wanker!"_

" _Guilty as charged, sadly," he said and tried to swing his arm around Angelina's shoulders._

" _I am immune to your charm, such as it is," Angelina growled, pushing him off._

" _What's got your knickers in a twist?"_

" _Honestly?" Alicia demanded, arms crossed. "You go without so much as a by-your-leave, and you wonder why we might be angry?"_

" _That would have ruined the show," Fred replied dismissively. "And it was a bloody good show, yeah?"_

" _That's not the point," Angelina snapped._

" _That's always the point!"_

That had been Fred: a maddening, arrogant, brash, juvenile idiot. For all of that, Angelina loved Fred Weasley, only she had never realized it when he was alive. He was her mate, and she missed the sound of his laughter paired with George's. She missed the mischievous glance the two would share when a new plan was being hatched. She missed watching the seamless perfection with which Fred and George played Quidditch. Maybe most of all, Angelina missed the days when no dark shadow passed over George's eyes when he thought of his twin.

Angelina traipsed up Diagon Alley with her arms wrapped around herself. Fred's giant head was destroyed in the war, right after the twins went into hiding. When it came time to reopen, George hadn't had the heart to recreate it. Angelina had been there on that day as well, and it had been like many things since the war ended: a bittersweet triumph.

" _George!"_

_Angelina met Percy's eye over the cash register._

" _Have you seen your brother?" she asked. "It's ten minutes until we open."_

_Percy adjusted his glasses. "I think he's in the backroom."_

_Blowing out an exasperated breath, Angelina whisked around the counter. The lot of them had busted their arses to get the shop ready to open. Every day for a month a different crew of Weasleys, Harry, Oliver, Katie, Lee, even Alicia, had turned up to clean, restock, and replenish supplies. Angelina had been there every bleeding day. It had been no small effort either—the Death Eaters had been rather thorough in their destruction. But for all of their efforts, the bloody shop couldn't open without its bloody owner._

" _Angelina, wait!" Percy stepped in front of her. "I think he needs a moment to… to just gather himself before—"_

_Angelina stared at Percy sadly. "I know."_

" _So, maybe just give him some time."_

" _No amount of time is going to solve this, Perce, and George has a business to open."_

_Skirting around George's older brother, Angelina marched back to the office only to be met with a locked door. She used several spells to try to unlock it, but unsurprisingly, they hadn't worked. Finally, feeling the eyes of at least three Weasleys and her old Quidditch Captain burrowing into her back, Angelina resorted to beating on the door._

" _Go away!"_

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

" _Are you daft? Do you not understand what a locked door means? I. Don't. Want. Company!"_

_Angelina leaned against the door. "Including mine?"_

_With her body pressed against the unyielding door, Angelina held her breath. Judging by the silence that surrounded her so was everybody else. On the other side, she could hear scraping and shuffling, did that mean George was coming to the door? What if he didn't? Would Bill open it for her? She could just blast the bloody thing to pieces._

_Finally, the door swung open._

" _In or out?" George growled._

" _Screw you, too, George," Angelina snapped back, hand on her hip, one eyebrow cocked._

_He closed his eyes. "Harpy."_

_Angelina pushed past George into the dark office and heard the click as the door shut behind her. "You've got a business to run and less than ten minutes to pull yourself together."_

" _I know." George crossed to the desk, fiddling with pieces of parchment that littered the top. "I never thought I was a sentimental person, you know?"_

" _No, that doesn't sound like you in the least."_

" _So, how come all I've been able to think about all morning is Fred?" His voice cracked. "All the times we sat around planning this blasted thing. The sound of his laughter—"_

_Choking on his tears, George covered his eyes with one hand. Sadness pooled in Angelina's belly. It surged up her esophagus, constricted her throat, filled her mouth, burned her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Wrapping her arms around his chest, Angelina pulled George against her body._

" _You have to pull yourself together," she whispered into the hole where his ear should have been._

_His arms crushed her, his face against her neck, hot tears and breath against her skin. "This was our effing dream, Angie, and where is he?"_

" _George…" Angelina closed her eyes, her hands fisting in his work robes. "Georgie…"_

_There were no words to answer his question. Her Muggle-born mother clung to the Pentecostal roots of her Caribbean heritage, but Angelina's belief was less formal. She couldn't quote scripture, or conjure assurance of streets paved in gold, but wasn't Nearly Headless Nick proof that the body had a soul and that soul lived on in someway? Angelina believed in an afterlife. She believed that Fred was there. Was he one of her mother's angels? Fred Weasley would never deign to be something so soppy and quaint. Could he maybe look down from wherever he was and be proud of George for having the courage to carry on their dream? Maybe. Angelina certainly hoped so._

_George pulled away, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "'m gonna be okay," he muttered. "It's just—He should be here."_

Fred hadn't been there, though. He never would be.

Early the next morning, they would all be expected to put on their Sunday best, and hike up to Hogwarts to hear a bunch of drivel about bravery and sacrifice and the shining possibilities of the new peacetime world. A world that Fred died to create, but one he would never be a part of. In 364 ½ days, Fred had already missed so much—the re-opening of his shop was only the beginning. He hadn't danced with Katie at her wedding, or congratulated Oliver when their son was born. There was only one twin to take the mickey out of Lee when he finally got together with Alicia—as unlikely an event as that was. The future was full of weddings and openings, births and break-ups, knockabout Quidditch games and World Cups. Fred wouldn't be there for any of them.

Angelina hunched her shoulders against the wind as she crossed the barrier from Wizarding London into the alley behind the Leaky Caldron. The truth of the matter was, Angelina could miss Fred all she wanted, but she hadn't lost a single thing in the war, not like her friends had. The log of sacrifices read like the world's most morbid grocery list:

Katie: Six months shaved off her life.

Oliver: Two elder brothers killed.

George: One ear, one twin.

Lee: Half his eyesight.

Alicia:

Alicia had lost her entire family in less than twenty-four hours.

As for Angelina, she was one of the lucky ones. In the early days of the Muggle-born Registration Commission, Angelina's mother, stepfather, and two half-sisters dashed off to the safety of the Continent. Angelina's father had mostly kept his head down in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and was never bothered. By the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, Angelina could claim that she had survived the war with nothing more than a scratch.

She should be grateful, and she was. Merlin, of course she was! To be anything else would be blasphemous. But what right did she have to cry over Fred, a few Hogwarts mates, some Harpies' teammates, and a beloved professor?

Inside the Leaky Caldron, Angelina was greeted by Hannah Abbott from behind the bar. Neville Longbottom, still in his Auror's robes, was leaning against the other side and appeared to be staring down the blond girl's barmaid costume. Two more who had lost family to Death Eaters. Neville even bore visible scars for his part in the war. Angelina truly was one of the lucky few.

"Can I get you a Butterbeer?" Hannah called.

"No, thank you," Angelina replied, forcing a smile. "I've just come in to use the Floo."

"Well, I suppose we'll see you tomorrow then."

"Would it be terribly rude to say I wasn't looking forward to it?"

Neville laughed dryly. "No, I'd say that would just about sum up the whole blighted affair."

Angelina nodded at the pair, placed a couple of Knuts in the lockbox on the mantle, and took a pinch of Floo powder from the pot. The next day seemed likely to be a well-orchestrated calamity, but the anticipation of it was nearly as unpleasant. Stepping into the fireplace, she threw down the powder, and yelled out, "Red's Wood!"

oOo

After Angelina left the shop, George went up to his flat to get ready to leave for the Burrow. Changing from his work robes into a pair of jeans and one of his mum's homemade jumpers that was too long in the sleeves, he stopped to gather his courage. Of course the family should be together on a bloody awful night like this one. Didn't mean it would be easy.

Going into his kitchen, George pulled a bottle of Firewhisky down from the cabinet. He set it on the counter, took a step back, staring at the bottle. This wasn't the cheap stuff that he'd been guzzling after Ron's birthday. This— _this_ was the good stuff. Romanian, aged for 150 years, smooth and woody.

Unopened.

The Firewhisky had been a birthday gift from Charlie, the only brother unaware of George's recent troubles. Not that any of his brothers had said anything to his face, of course, but George could see the worry and speculation in their penetrating stares every Sunday over Mum's excellent roast.

George had been rather proud of himself when, upon receipt, he'd stored the bottle away untouched. He didn't have a drinking problem, but he didn't want to put that theory to the test. At the moment, however, the licking flames of the amber liquid called his name like a siren song. _One little shot, just to cool your nerves, what could it hurt?_

Blowing a long breath through his nose, George put the bottle back. Maybe, someday, there would be something worth celebrating and he'd open that damn battle then.

In their own ways, each of George's brothers had offered to accompany him to the Burrow for this particular visit. Bill had asked directly when he stopped by during his lunch hour about a week ago. Percy had come by after work to help restock one night, and just gave George that pointed look and wrung his hands. Ron was as direct as Bill, if a bit less tactful: "Oi, you think you can make it on your own or do you need me to come around and give you a kick in the arse?" George was quite sure the only reason Charlie hadn't offered was because he was due to arrive just a few hours before the appointed time.

Well, George had turned them all down. The past year had been a brutal education in how to do things on his own; this was just one more. Or maybe it was a test. Regardless, and with no regard whatsoever for mixed metaphors, George had to stand on his own two feet.

Showing up at on the Burrow's doorstep not a moment sooner than necessary, George could see through the kitchen window that all of his brothers were there, as well as Harry, Fleur, and Audrey. Ginny and Hermione were still up at Hogwarts, and George reckoned they would see them the next day for the ceremony. There was the usual bustle as plates and silverware were being laid by hand; dishes were levitated from the counter to the table. George reminded himself that breathing was an important aspect of living, and walked in.

The mood was already somber, but a hush fell over the kitchen on George's entrance. It lasted a moment, and then Fleur asked Ron to fetch some more serving spoons. Everybody went about their business, except for one. Charlie was looking at George. No, he was _looking_ at George. Ah, shite, George knew what was coming. It was the look, _the look_ , the one that immediately preceded _the question._ George hated the look almost as much as the hated the question. And, at the moment, he thought maybe he hated Charlie, too.

"How are you doing, George?" Charlie asked.

Bloody hell. And there it was: _the question_.

Percy winced. "No one bothered to warn Charles about the question?"

Their brothers snickered.

Sometimes George liked to divide the world into two categories: The first was _The Society of Bloody Arseholes Who Asked the Question_ and the second was _Everybody Else_. All of his brothers had belonged to that Society at some time or another. Shite, Bill had been president of the Society until Boxing Day. The whole family had been invited up to Red's Wood and it had been Oliver who had put an end to Bill's reign: "He feels like shite, how do you think? Now shut it and let's play Quidditch." If for no other reason, George would love his old Quidditch Captain forevermore. Ron was an occasional member—it seemed like ickle Ronniekins felt obligated to check how George was doing from time to time. To which George would respond with a not-so-friendly "Screw you."

Surprisingly, Percy had never asked the question. George wasn't sure why that was, or what it said about Percy the Prat. If George were honest with himself, Percy wasn't as big of a wanker as the younger brother remembered. Over the last year, they'd built something of a tentative new relationship, a lot of which had to do with Audrey. And some of it had to do with Fred.

Charlie, on the other hand, just wasn't around enough. Not a bad excuse for being a massive arsehole, as excuses went. In all fairness, George could give him a pass. He could, but he wouldn't. Honestly, what would Fred have said?

"Well, Chaz," George started, his shoulders tight and his brow knotted. "Tomorrow is the anniversary of Fred's death so I feel like fuck you, that's how I feel."

It was crude. It was rude. Fred would have loved it. Nothing ol' Freddie loved more than the sweet sounds and sights of pandemonium that were now erupting all over the Weasley kitchen. Charlie's face went red under all of his freckles, his eyes wide. Their brothers—sods, every last one—laughed.

_No better sound in the world, eh, Forge?_

"George Weasley!" Mum shrieked, the smashed parsnips thunking onto the tabletop with extra force.

_Run, or it'll be sore bottoms time!_

"That's enough, all of you," Dad said and patted the air in the universal sign for 'settle down'.

Best of all, Fleur whacked Bill on the arm as they took their seats at the table.

"Now, all of you eat up," Mum said and pulled her apron off to hang by the door. "I know none of us are looking forward to tomorrow, but it will be easier to face on full stomachs."

Mum pulled her cloak around her shoulders, trading her house shoes for a pair of Wellies.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, spooning a third heaping serving of peas onto his plate.

"I'm off to call on Andromeda."

"I tried to get her to come today," Harry said. "She wants to be alone."

"I know it, and I understand, but it's easier to be alone when you have a bit of company."

"Try to get her to come tomorrow, or at least to let us bring Teddy."

Mum sighed. "I'll mention it, but I won't press her. We all deserve to grieve in our own way."

"Would you like me to come with you, Molly?" Dad asked as he accepted a plate of stewed cabbage from Bill.

"No, you stay and enjoy your meal." Mum bustled over to George and smacked his hand. "That wasn't very nice. You were raised better than that."

George considered this to be an outrageous lie—wasn't Ron proof otherwise? Still, he hung his head and muttered, "Yes, ma'am. Sorry."

She nodded, apparently satisfied, or at least willing to let him off the hook on this night. Then, "How _are_ you doing, dear?"

Mum was allowed to ask the question.

"About as well as you, I imagine."

She kissed his cheek. "We'll make it through."

oOo

After Mum left, dinner was a bad job. Ron had shoveled food into his gob, but nobody else could find the stomach to eat. They could barely even speak. Dad did his part, trying to start up conversation that fell awkwardly into the gloomy silence. George hated nights like that, and there had been a few. Fred wouldn't have stood for it. He would have cracked a joke, taken the piss out of Ron or Percy, something, anything to lighten the mood. On his own, however, George could never quite manage it.

When no one could take it any longer, Fleur and Audrey had cleaned up the kitchen. Enough leftovers were put away that Mum wouldn't have to cook for a week. Then Bill had whisked the two of them away, while Percy stayed behind. Dad had gone up to bed early, leaving Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, and Harry to drink Butterbeers in the sitting room on their own.

One by one, his brothers went up to bed, but George remained in his seat by the fire. He'd seen Mum come in and trudge up the stairs. Still, George sat. If he were honest with himself, and he tried to be, he didn't want to sleep alone in his old room. He'd done it before, of course, in those interminable weeks after the Battle, at Christmas, and New Year's, but tonight it seemed impossible. The sight of that bloody empty bed next to his, Fred's bed, it was too much to bear on a night like this.

When the clock struck 11:30, George set aside the Butterbeer he'd been nursing for the last hour, and stood to stretch his cramped limbs. In a few hours, somebody would stick their head in his room and gently tell him to wake up. He would go to breakfast and Mum would gently tell him to eat up, he needed his strength. He'd shower and dress, and then Dad would gently offer to side-along Apparate him to Hogsmeade. It would all be gently exhausting, but there was no way to gently excuse himself from it, so he'd better try to get some sleep.

The house was dark as George climbed the stairs, but he deftly skipped the squeaky step just before the second landing, where he noticed a light coming from under Percy's door. Of all of his brothers, George had not expected to find Percy still awake. Or maybe he did. Percy had been with Fred that night; he'd watched their brother die after Fred had welcomed him home with open arms.

Standing exactly halfway between Percy's bedroom and his own, it didn't take much thought for George to turn away from his door and knock lightly on his brother's. The thought that Percy might have his girl in there never even crossed his mind. Not straight-laced Percy, he would never sneak a girl into their mother's home!

So, it was a bit like being fed a canary cream when Percy opened his bedroom door, his curls disheveled, wearing a white t-shirt and his pajama bottoms. On the bed behind him, fast asleep and obviously wearing the matching pajama top, was Audrey. Heat flooded George's face.

"How'd you get her up here?" George blurted.

"Shhh!" Percy hushed, then whispered, "Audrey is a very clever witch."

"Did you—Am I interrupting—Uh…"

"We weren't—She didn't want—That's none of your business!"

The brothers stared at each other for a moment, their faces flaming.

"Come in or go away," Percy snapped.

And that was how George found himself standing in Percy's room. It looked much the same as always, except, obviously, for the girl in his bed. That was definitely new and interesting. Not to mention utterly, skin-crawlingly bizarre. Who shagged Percy the Prat?

Well, presumably Penelope Clearwater back at Hogwarts, and now Audrey. Bloody hell, had there been others?

"So, uh," George whispered.

"Don't worry, you won't wake her," Percy said in a soft voice, and sat down at his desk. With his wand, he conjured a chair for George.

"Cheers." George glanced at Audrey in the bed again. "So, what do you plan to tell Mum in the morning?"

"The truth, I reckon."

"That'll go over like a ton of bricks, I imagine."

Percy grinned, pushing his glasses up. "Well, I am an adult, aren't I?"

"Amateur," George scoffed. "That will never work with _Mum_. Honestly, I'm not even sure it will work with Dad. Sneaking a girl into the Burrow… I wish I would have thought of that."

"Do you think I'm the first brother to have come up with this?"

"Good point. Although, I'm willing to bet Bill and Charlie did it with a little more finesse."

"Don't they always?" Percy shrugged. "Why aren't you in bed? Can't sleep… or you don't want to?"

George sighed, but he didn't answer which didn't seem to bother Percy. Maybe his elder brother already knew the answer, or maybe he just didn't need it. One of the things George had learned about Percy over the past year was that he knew his younger siblings much better than George, or Fred, had ever given him credit for. Certainly better than George ever knew Percy. Now, with his newfound humility, Perce didn't walk around trying to impress anybody.

"The nightmares have started again," Percy admitted. "That's why Audrey came back tonight, so I wouldn't be alone."

"Fred?" George guessed. The pills on the arm of his sweater suddenly became incredibly interesting.

The silence in the little room was so complete that George could hear his own breathing. It wasn't like they never spoke of Fred. They did, especially after a few drinks, but they never spoke of the Battle. They didn't talk about Percy's return, or the way George had gotten separated from his brothers, or Fred's death. One time, the day—maybe two days after the Battle ended, Percy and Ron had haltingly told the whole wretched story, but that was it. Nobody had the bollocks to talk about it again after that.

"I saw some nightmarish things," Percy said, tapping his fingers on the desk absently. "Especially in those final months, but… nothing haunts me like Fred."

George could bloody well commiserate.

"If I had been faster… If I'd traded him places… If I hadn't distracted him…"

"If I hadn't been separated from you…" George added.

Percy folded his hands in his lap, silently staring at them.

"It's not your fault, Perce."

Percy nodded. "I know. Logically I know that. Emotionally is a different story."

"Well, if you start blaming yourself for things out of your control, just come around the ol' Triple W and I'll kick your arse, yeah?"

"You'll have to get in line. Audrey offered to, erm, kick my arse months ago."

George laughed. "I like her. Don't know what she's doing with a prat like you, I assume you've enchanted her somehow."

"Yes, I should hurry up and marry her before she comes to her senses."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"Me?" Percy pulled an outraged face, touching his chest pompously. "Take the piss? Never!"

George laughed, punching his brother in the arm. "C'mon."

"One day soon, yes," Percy said with a true smile. "If she'll have me."

"She'll have you. I mean she's willing to risk the wrath of Molly Weasley just so ickle Percykins won't have nightmares."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"As I understand it, you've stopped shagging anything in a skirt—"

George groaned.

"And not a moment too soon, you were ruining the family name."

Bollocks, now Percy was taking the piss.

"So, does that mean you've met someone special? Or maybe just noticed an old someone special?"

"Is this your way of asking if I have a girlfriend?"

Percy nodded stiffly. "Yes, I believe so."

"It's a little too soon for that, isn't it? I mean, I'm a pretty bad bargain, ain't I?"

"Being a terrible shag isn't the end of the world. You can learn, would you like me to draw you a diagram?"

George stared into Percy's perfectly straight sodding face.

"Piss off!"

Laughter burst out of Percy. On the bed, Audrey rolled over, the coverlets shifting to show a bit of white thigh and pink knickers. George felt his face heat up, but Percy flicked his wand and the covers righted themselves. Best just to pretend that hadn't happened.

"I think I liked you better when you had a stick up your arse," George complained.

"Sorry, I'll do my best to be an insufferable git if it suits you."

"It does actually."

"I just thought… maybe you and Angelina Johnson…"

"We're just mates," George was quick to say.

The words jumped out of his mouth, but his heart was doing somersaults in his chest. Him and Angie, they were just friends. That was all they ever should be, because really, she deserved better than a one-eared wreck that used to be one of the infamous Weasley twins. Maybe, at one time, they could have been more. George didn't think it was his imagination that Angelina had always had a soft spot for him, though to say she ever fancied him would have been a stretch. Not the way George had fancied her, but of course he was just one in a long line of admirers, Fred included.

"We're all bad bargains, you know," Percy said, startling George out of his thoughts. "Doesn't mean we can't still find happiness."

Ah, Merlin, was Percy reading his mind? Had he become an Occlumens at some point and forgotten to mention it? Seemed like pretty pertinent information to George. _Oh, don't mind me, I'm just reading your mind, and I'm shocked! Shocked! How dare you abuse a Puffskein in such a manner!_ But no, Percy was just echoing what George had said earlier, wasn't he? Best just to deflect the whole damned thing.

"Gah, so bloody maudlin." George stood. "Alright, time to face the bed."

"I'd let you stay here, but…" Percy motioned to the sleeping woman in his twin-sized bed.

"Right, a bit crowded, I get it."

"And she's prettier than you. Softer, too."

The two of them walked to Percy's door, but at the last moment, the older brother put a hand on George's shoulder. Any merriment that had been in Percy's eyes only moments ago was gone. His features stretched tight, his eyes glittering behind his glasses.

"George," Percy rasped. "I really am sorry. If I could somehow change it, trade places with him, anything…"

"Why don't you ever ask me the question?" George asked, staring up at his taller, older brother.

"What?" Percy summoned a hanky and wiped his nose. "I-ah-the question?" He didn't pretend to not know what George was talking about; he just shrugged and looked at his hands. "I reckon I feel like shite so you must feel worse."

"I'm glad you came back, Perce. I wish Fred could have gotten to know you better."

Percy sniffed. "Th-thank you."

"Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

"Today, actually. The clock chimed midnight a few minutes ago."

"Well then."

George hurried out of the door, closing it behind him and leaning against it. How could May 2 have come without him noticing? Rushing into his room, George tossed off his clothes and lay down in Fred's bed to stare at the darkened ceiling.

"Good night, Freddie."

oOo

George must have fallen asleep at some point because his room was black as pitch one moment and shining with a newly dawned sun the next. There was no gentle wake up call like he'd expected. Instead he was awoken by the rhythmic rappity-rap-rap of one bloody persistent owl banging on the windowpane. He swung his legs out of his—out of Fred's bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floorboards. At the window was a great, foul-tempered snowy owl that was as beautiful and tenacious as her owner.

In just his pants, George threw open the sash so that the owl could fly in. She dropped her missive on the floor for the pure joy of watching George stoop down in his drawers to pick it up. Harpy by name, harpy by disposition.

Unfolding the letter, George saw the familiar bold hand of Angelina Johnson scrawled across the parchment:

" _I know you can do this. –AJ"_

It was May 2, 1999, and a tiny smile pulled at George Weasley's mouth.


End file.
